Little Johnlock Fics
by jamesgatz1925
Summary: One page Johnlock fics based on one word prompts. Some are rated T and some are M. Rated M just to be on the safe side.
1. Chapter 1

**Pretend**

"You don't have to be big and bad with me," John says.

Sherlock sighs. "I wasn't trying to be anything, I was just trying to—"

"You always pretend to be more than you are," John says, annoyed.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock demands, following John down the street.

"You pretend to be mean and rude and try to be scary to get what you want. You don't fool me."

Sherlock steps in front of John, his coat swishing behind him. John rolls his eyes.

"That wasn't on purpose," Sherlock says.

"Just stop trying to be something you're not. Be nice to people. Ask rather than demand. You were just trying to buy coffee! You don't have to pull your collar up and deduce the poor boy."

Sherlock looks down at his shoes. "I didn't like the way you were looking at him."

John frowns. "Is that what this is about? I looked at him wrong?"

Sherlock looks up through thick lashes.

"He was young enough to be my son, Sherlock."

"Isn't that what men like? Young, pretty things—"

John grabs Sherlock around the waist. "I love you, you lunatic."

Sherlock stares at his shoes again. "I just didn't like it."

"So," John says, staring at his shoes as well. "You weren't pretending to be mean, you were genuinely jealous?"

Sherlock nods.

"I'm sorry."

"I am, too."

John looks into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock lifts his head to look back at him.

"Can I kiss you now?" Sherlock asks.

John smiles. "Why do you ask, you know you can just do that any time you want."

"You just told me to ask for things!" Sherlock shouts, turning around to walk down the street. "I don't know what you want from me!"

John chuckles at the flustered genius and trots after him. "Get back here, you big baby!"


	2. Chapter 2: Love

**Love**

John draws the sheets up over his head, completely covering his entire body. He giggles at the warm breath on his chest.

"This tickles," he says.

A low, rumbling chuckle reverberates against John's stomach. Sherlock inhales against John's chest, earning himself another giggle from the man beneath him. "You smell nice," he says.

John smiles and digs ten digits into curly hair. He stretches as much as he can beneath Sherlock, wiggling his toes into Sherlock's calves. "What do I smell like?" John asks.

"Hmm," Sherlock grins. "Let's see…" Sherlock sniffs John's chest above his left nipple. "Smells like…content."

"Content?" John asks, chuckling.

"Yes. You're content in this bed."

"I think I'm a bit more than content…"

"I'm not finished," Sherlock says, grinning up at John.

John nods.

Sherlock shifts to John's right side. He sniffs there. "Let's see…there's a bit of," Sherlock sniffs again. "Want?"

John bites his lip as he feels Sherlock's lips traces over his chest. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock opens his mouth and lets his bottom lip run up John's chest as he scoots up to lay fully over John. Sherlock lets out a breathy groan as his erection touches John's. He slowly grinds his hips against John. "What is it you want, John?"

John pulls Sherlock's head down and presses his lips against Sherlock's. He shifts his hands down so he can cup Sherlock's arse, and swipes his tongue over Sherlock's bottom lip when he feels Sherlock open his mouth and dig his own finger's into John's hair. Both men groan when Sherlock grounds his hips down again.

Sherlock pulls back to take a deep breath and asks, "What do you want, John?"

John sighs sleepily. The blanket pulled over their heads renders them with a lack of oxygen, and breathing each other's air always makes John light headed.

"You," John breathes against Sherlock's mouth. His chest tightens as if he's about to cry, a feeling that almost always happens with he feels a sudden rush of love for Sherlock. "I love you," he whispers.

So soon is it in their relationship that those three words are special, not that that will ever change. Sherlock will always feel _this_ way when John says it; now, only four weeks into their relationship, or fifteen years down the line when it's difficult for them to do this.

"I love you, too," he says, wrapping arms tight around John and kissing him deeply.


	3. Chapter 3: Exist

**Exist**

"Well done, Sherlock!" Lestrade shouts. "The hero of the hour."

Sherlock smiles that smile he has when he doesn't like the attention on him.

John knows that smile well. It's the 'heroes-don't-exist' smile.

"You did well today, love," John says, unpacking the groceries they picked up on the way home.

"It was hardly any trouble," Sherlock says. "Barely challenging at all."

"Nonetheless," John says, "Well done, Hero."

Sherlock smiles that smile down at him.

"I can't believe we walked out of there alive," John says, climbing the steps to their flat while pulling his coat off.

"It was quite scary, I'll have to admit," Sherlock says, following John.

Once they're inside, John wastes no time before pushing Sherlock against the door and kissing him with no finesse. The kiss is frantic and needy and very, very heated.

John breaks away for a breath and stares at Sherlock's kiss-swollen lip. "My hero," he mutters before attacking Sherlock in a kiss once again, leaving no time for the man to give that certain smile.

John and Sherlock stumble up the stairs after a celebratory drink with Lestrade. John fumbles in after Sherlock and grabs Sherlock around the waste as he feels himself fall.

"John!" Sherlock chuckles. "Stand on two feet!"

John looks down at his feet. "They're all jiggly. Like tentacles!"

"Tentacles?" Sherlock asks, peering down at John's feet.

John regains his balance and pulls Sherlock close to him. "Come on, Hero. Let me give you a reward," with that, John wiggles his eyebrows in a seductive manor and begins to unbuckle Sherlock's belt.

"Heroes don't exist, John!" Sherlock chuckles out.

John, nearly on his knees, looks up at Sherlock. "What did you say?" he asks, suddenly very angry.

"I said heroes don't— umf!" Sherlock stumbles backwards and grabs his jaw. "What was that for?"

"Did that hurt, Sherlock?" John demands.

"Well, of course! You just punched me in the— umf!" he stumbles back again, this time the back of his legs hit the coffee table. "Stop shoving me!" Sherlock wipes his mouth, tastes the blood, licks the cut.

"You fucking exist, Sherlock! You're not a bloody machine! You're not an empty body! You. Exist."

"John, what has this got to do with—umf!" he falls back onto the small coffee table with a red-faced John on top of him.

"You exist, Sherlock! You are a real person and a true hero!" John breathes deep in Sherlock's face. "Do you hear me?!"

Sherlock's stomach briefly turns at the smell of liquor on John's breath. He hastily nods.

John's face turns into a deep frown and his eyes swell with tears. He presses his face to Sherlock's, their foreheads pressing together tightly and their noses brushing against each other. "You're a hero to me," John sobs.

Sherlock wraps his arms around John, pulling him close against him. "I know, John," he says. "I know."

_***Hello all. I've started these, and they're pretty much just one page ficlets from one word prompts. Please give me one word to write about. Thanks! **_


	4. Chapter 4: Baby

**Baby**

They really aren't those kinds of people who show affection in public. Often times, there might be a peck here or there, but never at a scene and rarely just on the street. They just aren't those kinds of men.

John addressed this many years ago while with one girlfriend and Sherlock never forgot. She was young and beautiful and not very smart, if you ask Sherlock, and when Sherlock would see them together, she'd be clinging to John for dear life. She'd make John hold her hand or hold her close to him. She'd kiss John anywhere at anytime. She'd call John names like honey or sweetie or baby. And John never liked it. He always had a really pained face when she did something like that, and their relationship didn't last long.

So now John is with Sherlock and they aren't public people.

John has taken to calling Sherlock 'love' mostly because it's come natural to him. Calling him anything other than Sherlock is silly, but Love just fits. John can say, "Come along, love," or "I'll be back, love," and it just _fits_.

They've been together a few months and Sherlock's decided to try out terms of endearments.

"Are you ready, dear?" he asks John as they're leaving Lestrade's office one afternoon.

John gives him a curious look and follows Sherlock out the door. Once they're in the lift, John asks, "What was that about?"

"What?"

"The 'dear'."

"I thought I'd give it a try. You didn't like it?"

"I appreciated the thought, it just makes us sound a bit…" John pauses to think. "Old," he adds.

"Old?"

"Yes. Old. Like a grandparent saying it to their grandchild."

Sherlock nods and remembers that 'dear' is out.

He tries again a week later at the shop. "Have you got cash, honey?"

John side-eyes him and reaches into his pocket. "Sure. Here you go."

Sherlock smiles as he pays the cashier.

Once they're outside, John asks, "Honey?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock answers.

"No, I wasn't trying to get your attention, I was just trying to ask what that was about?"

"Honey isn't good?"

John slowly shakes his head. "Again, it's not that I don't appreciate the gesture, it's just…strange."

"I understand, John."

A week later, Sherlock tries again while they're in bed. John is hard at work with his mouth between Sherlock's legs, and Sherlock is scratching at his shoulders and mumbling many thoughts at once.

"Ooooh, John," he pants, "Right there…a bit harder, _pleeeease_," Sherlock lets out a long, loud groan, and continues, "Harder, baby, oh…faster…"

John moans around Sherlock's cock, and that low rumble sends Sherlock over the edge. He comes hard and fast down John's throat.

When he's finished, John shimmies up Sherlock's body and lays over him. He smiles at Sherlock and Sherlock does his best to smile back.

"Why are you smiling like that, John?" he asks.

John kisses his neck. "You called me baby and I liked it."

"That you liked?"

"Yes. Well, maybe it was the context of the word, but I liked it."

"Well," Sherlock says, "I will never call you that again, so just keep it out of your head."

John looks disappointed. "Why not?"

"That annoying little girl you dated used to call you that all the time. I couldn't go a day without hearing her dreadful voice saying it to you."

John stares at Sherlock as he talks. "That bothered you?"

"I was in love with you, John. Of course it bothered me."

John smiles and kisses Sherlock's nose. "I would've been upset, too, love."

"Would you be terribly upset if I just called you by your name, John? It's just weird when I do it, and besides you already know you're my—"

John presses a finger to Sherlock's lips. "Saying the things you say with my name attached to it is more important than any pet name."

"Really?" Sherlock asks.

John nods.

"Well, in that case," Sherlock grins as he turns John over onto his back. "Let me suck you now, John."

John moans as Sherlock kisses down his body.


	5. Chapter 5: Baby (Again)

**Baby**

John's found that when you really, really want something, you begin to see it everywhere.

When he was young he wanted this really neat robot toy, and it seemed as though there were only commercials for that toy in the telly.

When he wanted to be a doctor, he seemed to see sick people everywhere. He longed to be able to diagnose them, but it just gave him more motivation to finish school.

When he was still pining over Sherlock, he saw tall, beautiful, brunette men everywhere. But of course, none were the one he wanted, so he moved on and lived in the heartache of the one he wanted not loving him back (but that wasn't true).

Now he's with Sherlock and approaching and older age and all he sees are babies.

John didn't even realize he wanted a baby until one day at the clinic, there was a young mother there getting a sonogram. John sat to talk to her for a few minutes, because the girl looked nervous, and learned a few things he wished he hadn't.

"I'm going to give this baby up for adoption," she told him.

"Is that so?" he asked, curious. "Why?"

"I'm not ready to be a parent. I don't want this child. I'll give it to a family who does want it, you know? Some nice gays or something."

John smiled at her. "That's very…uhm…brave of you."

"Yeah," she said. "I'm ready to do it. I knew the moment I took the test."

John nodded.

A second later, the girl's doctor called her in to the back room.

The whole way home that evening, John got to thinking. _There are more people than just that young girl in this world who have unwanted pregnancies. I'd be a fit dad. I could teach it football and CPR. I could love it and feed it and read to it. Of course, knowing Sherlock he'd never want to adopt a baby. He'd want his own to train to be brilliant like him. He'd want his clone. _John stopped in the middle of the road and blink at his shoes. _I didn't know I wanted a baby. Do I want a baby? Fuck, _he thought, _I do. I want to have a baby with Sherlock. And we need some eggs for breakfast tomorrow._

John decided to go to the shop on his way home. In there, he saw three babies and one pregnant woman. Two of the babies were twins, and John thought they were adorable. They were probably two years old, both boys, and they were small chunky things. They were blonde and had large blue eyes, and they both stuck their tongues out at John as he passed.

The third baby he saw was around the same age, but he was sitting in the cart with his arms crossed and his legs out, and each time his mother tried to set an item in the cart, he'd shift so she couldn't set it down. John chuckled as he watched the show, and his mother looked at John and smiled. She apologized for standing in his way and left before he could say it was alright.

The pregnant woman he saw was in line behind him to pay. He smiled at her, and glanced down at her belly, then asked, "Second trimester?"

She smiled and touched her stomach. "Yes, how did you—"

"I'm a doctor." He held his hand out for her to shake. "John."

"Emily. My husband didn't even know what a trimester is."

John laughed. "I didn't until med-school. Do you know what you're having?"

"A girl," she happily said.

"A girl? Congradulations."

"Do you have any children?" she asked.

"No. Unfortunately, kids aren't my partner's cup of tea."

"That's too bad," she said "Well, my friend told me about this great adoption agency if you'd like the number. We were having problems getting pregnant, so we were going to try them out, but not long after I got the number, well…" she absentmindedly rubs her belly.

"Hmm," John thinked. "Actually, I'll take that number."

She smiled and fished around her purse.

"Thanks," John said, then paid for his items and left.

When he got home, he talked to Sherlock about it.

"You really think it'd be a good idea for us to have a _baby_?" Sherlock asks.

"I want one, don't you want one?"

Sherlock snorted. "Why would I want that?"

"I don't know," John said, suddenly very angry. "Because it's the normal thing to do."

"Is it? I know many people who don't have children and they're perfectly sane."

John rolled his eyes, now very angry. "Fine, Sherlock. Forget I fucking asked."

That was weeks ago, and now all John sees are babies. They haven't talked about babies since, but John hurts each time he sees a baby. He never thought himself a guy who wanted kids, but that was before he had someone to spend his life with. Now he wants them to be one in the form of a child.

But John doesn't say anything, fearing what Sherlock would do if he showed Sherlock how much he does want it.

**_*Yesterday, I got the prompt 'baby' from _thefactoryfangirl. _I wrote two because I couldn't decide which 'baby' to use. Thanks for the prompt! _**


	6. Chapter 6: Fire

**Fire**

There's smoke everywhere. He can't breath, much less see. His lungs are feeling with smoke with every small inhale, and not the good kind of smoke. He had to find John, though. He couldn't leave this place without him.

He wanders longer and finds the flames. This way he knows he's gone in a complete circle, and still no John. Going towards the flames would be bad, however, so he stops in the corner where there are no flames and slithers down the wall. Vague fire safety memories reminds him to stay low, below the smoke, so he slide down the wall and onto his belly.

His eyes sting. He can't breath. He didn't find John.

Seemingly hours later, two hands grab at his arms. "I've got you!" a loud man shouts at him.

"John…" he manages to whisper out, his voice hoarse with it being dry from the smoke.

The man drops to his knees next to Sherlock and pulls Sherlock over his shoulder, in a regular fireman's hold. "Take this!" he shouts at Sherlock, shoving his oxygen mask over Sherlock's face.

Sherlock takes as deep a breath he can, which is apparently too deep. He coughs and gags over the man's shoulder, then he slowly takes shorter breaths into the man's oxygen mask, then hands it back to him. Still on his knees, the fireman carries Sherlock out of the building. It's a long journey, and somewhere along the way, everything went black in Sherlock's vision, and not just from the smoke.

The fresh air hits him like a left hook to the breast bone. The fireman sets him on the ground, and Sherlock writhes and coughs on the ground. He feels another oxygen tank on his face and he breaths in and out slowly. His eyes sting too much to open.

"John?" Sherlock pleads between breaths. "John?"

Someone kneels next to him and helps him into a sitting position. "Come on, get that smoke out of your lungs," the second man says.

"John?" Sherlock asks again.

"We can't find Doctor Watson, sir," the man says. "We've searched everywhere. Are you sure he didn't get out before you?"

"I don't…" Sherlock tries to recall. Suddenly his eyes sting, and not from the smoke. "John was there," he coughs out. "And the other man…but John…he ran after him as the flames began…"

"Sherlock!" a familiar voice calls behind him. Lestrade appears next to him and kneels on the other side of him. "Sherlock, god, are you alright?"

Sherlock nods. "Find John," he says.

Lestrade quickly stands and goes back to his team.

Suddenly the building is engulfed in more flames; an explosion had just gone off. Sherlock passes out at the sight.

Sherlock wakes up in an ambulance.

"Mr. Holmes?" the medic gets his attention. "You're on the way to the hospital, sir. Can you hear me?"

Sherlock nods. "Where is John?"

"We found him, sir. In the uhm…" the medic pauses to think if he should tell Sherlock, but he tells him anyway. "He was in the building."

Sherlock tries to sit up, but the medic pushes him down. "John!"

"He's in an ambulance right behind us, sir. Just lay back and relax, please."

Sherlock doesn't know what to do, so he does as he's told.

They get to the hospital and Sherlock gets checked out. Nothing is broken and he has no major lung damage, so an hour after arriving, he gets released. He goes to the reception desk to demand where John is.

"I'm his husband," Sherlock says, trying to be as calm as possible. He has no idea what to expect when he finds John, but he's hoping for the best.

A nurse takes him to John's room. Sherlock takes a deep breath and pushes the door open.

"John?" he asks.

"There you are," the figure on the bed says. It's John, of course. John holds his hand out for Sherlock and Sherlock eagerly takes it.

"I'll leave you two alone, then," Lestrade says, having ridden in the ambulance with John.

John and Sherlock nod at Lestrade as he exits the room.

"Where'd you go?" Sherlock demands. _He lets John regain his thoughts and looks John over. Patch of gauze over his left eye, probably from smoke damage. Bruise under his other eye from where the man punched him right before the fire started. His ribs are wrapped, he was either manhandled or he fell through a floor. No, his legs aren't damaged. He was manhandled. Second degree burns on his arms, most likely a bit on his legs. Not that bad. Chapped, cut lips from the dry air. _Sherlock reaches over to John's bedside table and picks up the cup of water, then presses the straw into John's mouth. John greedily sucks the water, then coughs from taking too much in. He tries to sit up, but he can't, so Sherlock rubs circles on his chest to soothe him.

"'s nice," John murmurs.

"Where did you go? What happened?" Sherlock demands again.

John coughs to clear his throat. "Well, he punched me and knocked me off guard, you saw that. Then he pulled me with him through the door of one room before you could catch us, and once you got to the room there was the fire, right?" Sherlock nods. John continues, "Well, he pulled me through to another room, where he started another fire, then punched me again. In the chest that time. I fell back onto a table, and the table fell through, that's where I cracked a few ribs." Sherlock winces. "It's not that bad, love. Anyway, after that he pulled me to another room, through the flames, and left me in a room where he started another fire. I think I passed out pretty quick because I don't remember anything after that, until Greg was talking to me a while ago."

Sherlock nods all through John's explanations. He grows hot, angry. He clenches his jaw and flares his nostrils.

"Love," John softly says, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "I'm fine. See?" John smiles up at Sherlock.

Sherlock frowns down at him. "I couldn't find you."

"I know. And I know you tried. I'm just glad you're ok."

"I would have rather been with you."

John shakes his head. "No. No, I would have killed you had you gotten stuck with me. You were where you needed to be. Got it?"

Sherlock slowly nods. He looks at John through his lashes, with his head down, and bites his lip.

"What is it?" John asks, annoyed. He knows Sherlock's got something to say, he knows Sherlock wants to tell him he's an idiot for standing up to the guy _before _the fire. He wants to—

Sherlock delicately grabs John's face and presses his soft lips against John's tender ones. When he breaks away, he rests his forehead against John's. "I'm so glad you're ok, John. I'm so sorry for not finding you."

John grabs Sherlock's arms and holds him tight. "It's ok, love. We're ok."

_***So this prompt was FIRE which I love by **_**egyptian1995. **_**Thank you so much, I hope this is ok. It's a bit angsty isn't it. More prompts, everyone! Please! **_


	7. Chapter 7: Miss

**Miss**

Sherlock really hates going anywhere. He likes to stay in London, and if at all possible stay at 221B. Before John he didn't like to go places because of the people _everywhere._ Everywhere you look there's someone new, and for someone who people generally hate, it's really hard to leave the house. Now that he and John are together, he wants to bury John in the confines of 221B. He wants it to be their net, their niche, _theirs. _

But this case is _extremely_ interesting. Not only is the sole heir of the company convicted for embezzlement and fraud, he's convicted of murdering his own parents. He pleads guilty, and Sherlock's no lawyer, but they call him to get the facts and the evidence. He's called the night the bodies are found.

"It's only in Germany, John, and it shouldn't be that long."

"The last embezzlement case we had lasted two weeks, Sherlock. Two _weeks._"

"Then come with me," Sherlock plainly says.

John groans. "I can't, love. I've got work. And this case decided to land on Sarah's vacation."

"Tell her—"

"The vacation she's had lined up for three months."

Sherlock sighs. "Then I'll go alone. And I'll have incentive to work quickly."

"Good," John says. "Just be safe, alright? Please? No bullets or fires or sexy men or—"

Sherlock quickly turns to John and cups John's cheek. "I'm _leaving_ the sexiest man," he coolly says. He pierces John's skin with his crystal eyes.

John bites his lip. "Just be careful, ok? And eat, _please_. And sleep, dear god remember to sleep a bit."

"You worry too much," Sherlock says before diving in for a suffocating kiss.

John didn't need breathe anyway.

* * *

John paces the sitting room and Mrs. Hudson watches. She's sitting quietly on the sofa, her head darting back and forth like watching a tennis match on slow motion. She takes a deep breath.

"John, he's fi—"

"I don't know that. You don't know that. Lestrade doesn't know that. The only person who knows is Mycroft and _he won't tell me anything._"

"Well, the elder Mr. Holmes is a very busy man, dear, and—"

"Sherlock's dead. Or hurt. Or dead. I just know it. I haven't spoken with him in five days," John quickly turns to Mrs. Hudson and shouts, "Where is he?!"

Mrs. Hudson slightly jumps at his loud voice. "Come here, dear," she says, patting the sofa next to her.

He slumps to the sofa and throws himself down. Then, he leans forward against his knees and rubs his eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just…" he rubs his entire face, then looks at her. "I'm so tired. I haven't slept since he left. I'm so worried that I make myself sick. I just want to know he's ok, to hear his voice…anything."

Mr. Hudson rubs small circles into his back. "It's alright, dear. I'm sure he's perfectly safe. When was the last time you called?"

"I called four times yesterday, and today I'm cooling it with the calls."

"Try before bed, alright?"

John nods.

* * *

John eagerly brushes his teeth and throws an old shirt on. He gets to his bed and takes the shirt off, though, because he usually sleeps in only pants anyway. He slips under the duvet and picks up his phone.

A tingly feeling runs through his body when he presses send. He shyly smiles and bites his lip as it rings; his body full of excitement.

"Sherlock Holmes," the voice on the other side absentmindedly says.

"Hey, love," John says, still a bit shy.

"John," Sherlock observes.

"I know…" John sighs. "I know you're busy, but I just miss you so much and I want to know you're not dead and that you're eating and sleeping and—"

"Hang on, John," he says. John hears his mutter a few things to someone else, then he's back. "Ok, I'm back."

John smiles to himself. "Anyway, I just want to make sure you're ok. You'd better be eating, mister, and—"

"I'm eating right now, as a matter of fact."

John narrows his eyes, though Sherlock can't see him. "Why don't I believe you?"

Sherlock sighs. Then the sound comes over John's ear that someone is FaceTime Calling him. He glances at the screen and, of course, it's Sherlock. John clicks the bedside lamp on and answers the call. It's an image of a takeout container.

"I told you," Sherlock says offscreen.

"Alright, alright," John replies. "I believe you now."

Sherlock turns the camera around to face him. "Oh," he mutters.

John's smiling very wide back at him. He takes in Sherlock's face; his plump, parted lips, his wide eyes, his sharp cheekbones. Sherlock bites his lip and John says, "I missed you."

"You're naked," Sherlock says.

John looks down at his body. "Oh, sorry, I'll—"

"No!" Sherlock quickly snaps.

John gets an evil grin. "No?"

"It's just," Sherlock clears his throat. "It's not bothering me. How are you?"

John continues grinning. "I'm fine, love. How are you? How's the case?"

"It would be easier if people here understood me. If you were here, I'd be done by now."

"I can't arrest people, love."

"You can kill people," Sherlock mutters.

John laughs. "Well, I'll let you get back to your team. I love you."

"No, no," Sherlock says. "I told them I was turning in for the night."

John pushes himself deeper into the bed. "Good," he says. "Why don't you slip into something a bit more comfortable?"

Sherlock looks down at his clothes. "I am comfortable."

"Let me try this again," John clears his throat. "Take off your shirt," he demands in his captain voice.

Shivers run down Sherlock's spine. He clears his throat, too. He holds his arm out so more of himself can be shown on the phone screen, and he begins to slowly unbutton his shirt with one hand.

As soon as his pale skin can be seen under his black shirt, John whimpers.

"Is this what you want?" Sherlock asks, his voice thick with lust.

"Yeah," John breaths, "Just like that."

"This hardly seems fair," Sherlock says, pulling his shirt off. "Your shirt is already off."

John chuckles. "I didn't know it was going to lead to this," he says. John slowly rests his hand on his chest, then delicately runs his hand up his own chest. He wraps his hand around the opposite side of his neck, in the exact way Sherlock's hand would lay if it was Sherlock.

Sherlock growls.

"Why did you just growl?" John huskily asks.

"I should be touching you like that," Sherlock says.

"Mmmm," John groans, "I wish you were."

"I want to touch you, John," Sherlock says, his eyes suddenly very heavy lidded. "With my hands and my tongue and my cock…"

John nods. "I want you to. I miss you so much," John says.

"I miss you…" Sherlock replies.

John breathes deep. "Trousers. Now. Take off your trousers."

Sherlock lips his lips and begins to do so.

"No," John snaps. "I want to see."

Sherlock nods and flips the camera around again so John can see his lower half. His long fingers skillfully unbuckle his trousers.

"I wish I could see all of you," John says.

"Hang on," Sherlock says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice.

When John sees Sherlock again, he's standing in front a full length mirror with no shirt and his trousers half undone. "Every hotel room's got one," Sherlock says.

"Clever, clever boy," John says. "God, you're so sexy."

Sherlock smirks and resumes undoing his trousers. He unzips the fly and firms his stance on the ground. He smiles at John, gives the trousers a little push, and lets them fall off his hips to the ground. He's got tight, white pants on; John can see the outline of his erection perfectly.

"You look hungry," John observes.

"I'm only wearing pants and you're saying I look hungry?"

John shakes his head. "Sorry, sorry. Continue."

"Mmm," Sherlock sounds, thinking. "I still don't think this is even."

John rolls his eyes and stands, going to their full length mirror and standing in front of it. "Happy?"

"Your pants are far too dark," Sherlock says, staring at John's dark green pants through the screen.

John takes hold of his erection and gives himself a long, hard tug. "How's that?"

Sherlock's cock pulses at the sight. "Perfect," he says.

"Pants now," John demands, the captain voice back. "Take 'em off, pretty boy."

Sherlock cocks an eyebrow. "Are these terms you commonly used in the military?"

"Once or twice," John says, "When someone got outta line."

Sherlock slips a thumb into his pants on his hipbone. He pulls his pants down a bit, then switches to the other side. He slips them down past his arse in the back, but in the front his erection is holding them up.

"Tease," John says.

Sherlock grins and pulls his pants down all the way to his ankles, his body bending all the way down as he pushes. Then he slowly stands, and for the first time John sees his cock.

"Thick," John mutters. He's not just referring to Sherlock's erect cock, but to his lover's naked body. For a skinny man, Sherlock's got a lot of muscle, causing him to be quite thick and sold. "Big," Just mutters, this time commenting on Sherlock's cock.

Sherlock smiles and takes hold of himself, gripping the base and squeezing. "Your turn," he says.

John nods and takes his pants off with far less finesse, letting the fabric fall to the ground once it was past his arse. Sherlock doesn't mind, however, he just moans at the sight of John's erection.

Sherlock begins to stroke himself with slow, rhythmic thrusts. He bites his lip and waits for John before he gives himself the full job.

Suddenly feeling very perverted, wanking in front of his far away spouse over phone camera, John blushes.

"John," Sherlock says, sensing the change even from his hotel room in Germany. "Don't, John. There's nothing wrong with this."

John takes Sherlock's words and nods. "Ok," he says, taking hold of himself.

Sherlock moans loud.

John spreads the precome already dripping out of him onto his cock, giving him easier strokes. "God, I miss you, Sherlock, ughhh," he says.

Sherlock turns to his side so John can see the full length of his cock.

"Long," John comments, turning to his side as well.

Sherlock lets the drops of precome fall to the floor, not caring about the mess or the stains. _This hotel room has seen far worse, _he momentarily thinks, wishing he hadn't seen the smudges of dry cum on the headboard. He put a pillow over it and left for a scene rather than worrying about it that moment.

As they stroke themselves, each man grows more frantic. Each strings out their own words of longing towards the other.

"So beautiful," John says, "You're so gorgeous…"

Sherlock pants. Sweat falls down his body, leaving him nearly glowing.

John licks his lips, wishing he was licking Sherlock's sweat.

"John," Sherlock moans, "Oh god, _Joooohn_…"

John closes his eyes, then instantly opens them again, not wishing to miss any of the free porn show he's receiving.

"John," Sherlock says, this time trying to get John's attention. "This is a strange request, but I want you to do something for me."

"Anything, love, god anything…"

"Come on the mirror," Sherlock demands.

"Come…on the…"

"Yes, please, John."

John nods and turns to face forward, sensing his orgasm is just a few strokes away. "I love you, Sherlock," he mutters, "I love you so much."

"I love you, John," Sherlock babbles. "Come for me, baby, come—"

The simple words coming from Sherlock's mouth should mean nothing, but to John's lizard brain, it's the sexiest thing on earth at the moment. His toes curl against the floor, his mouth forms a perfect circle, and with the faintest moaning sound, John comes right onto the mirror.

"Oh god," John hears Sherlock say before he grabs the head of his cock and comes into his hand. He nearly double over with sensation, for a split second imagining John's mouth catching the cum as it has many times before.

When the spasms end, Sherlock stands and takes deep breaths. He stares at John through the camera, John looking utterly debauched and embarrassed.

"Don't be embarrassed, love," Sherlock reassures him. "That was _perfect_."

John nods and shuffles over to the bed, deciding he can clean that up later. He flops onto the mattress and holds the phone over his head so he can see Sherlock.

Sherlock goes to the bathroom of his hotel room to clean his hand. Once finished, he goes back to the bed and falls down on it.

"How do you feel?" John asks.

"Tired," Sherlock answers.

"You'd better be sleeping, young man."

Sherlock smiles. "I am, I promise."

"Did you finish your dinner?"

"I'll put it in the mini-refrigerator for tomorrow."

"You'd better eat it, youn—"

"I will!" Sherlock cuts him off.

John smiles at his husband. "I love you," he says.

"I love you, too."

"Come home soon, please."

"I will, I promise."

John nods. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

John yawns loud and wide. "Ok," he says, once he can breath again. "Call me tomorrow."

Sherlock nods. "I will."

"Good. Get some sleep."

"You too."

"I love you," John says one last time.

"I love you, too, John," Sherlock says. "So much."

John smiles, feels like crying, but doesn't. "Bye, love."

"Bye, John."

_*** This chapter is extremely long and I am sorry about the length, not to content. This was prompted by…someone…didn't someone say miss? Someone did. Anyway there might be a sequel to miss later. Thanks ! **_


	8. Chapter 8: Meet

**Meet**

The next night he calls John, but they just talk. Sherlock goes over the case and bounces ideas off John, and all in all Sherlock feels better about the case. The night after that is the same, and the day after that Sherlock finishes the case.

Sherlock doesn't tell John he's on his way home. At Heathrow Airport he lets his phone go to voicemail three times and John grows worried. Instead of calling Mycroft like he had been the days before he spoke to Sherlock, John marches down to Greg Lestrade's office.

Sherlock, incidentally, is also at Greg Lestrade's office.

"Greg, I—" John starts as he throws the office door open. John's jaw drops nearly to the floor.

Sherlock stares, also in shock, and tries to talk. "Oh, John, I'm—" _I'm_ _back_, he tries to say.

John takes three wide steps at his tall husband and attacks Sherlock in a kiss.

"Umf!" Sherlock mumbles as his lips are attached to John's. Sherlock tries his best to kiss back, but John's holding his face so tight that he can't really get much purchase. He stares wide eyed at John's blissfully closed eyes.

When John finally pulls away he's panting and his lips are swollen. He clears his throat and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Good to see you, Detective," he says.

Sherlock wipes his lips with his thumb and index finger, much more nice than John did. "Likewise, Doctor."

Lestrade rolls his eyes. At _the names _he rolls his eyes. Not at the two men snogging like starving cats in the middle of his office. At their greeting titles.

"Anyway," Lestrade gets their attention. "Sherlock, what else happened?"

Sherlock goes on with what he was telling Lestrade before John so lustfully interrupted. As he finishes, Sherlock stands. "And now, if you'd excuse me, I've got to use the restroom," he says, leaving the room.

John and Lestrade sit and talk a minute before John gets an idea. "I've had a lot to drink today," John says, "Excuse me for just a moment."

Lestrade eyes him suspiciously as John leaves the room.

* * *

"Sherlock?" John asks, knocking on the door to the single stall loo tucked in the corner of Lestrade's floor. He knows Sherlock _only _uses that bathroom while at NSY.

Sherlock unlocks the door but doesn't open it.

John looks for any one watching, finds no eavesdroppers, and slips into the small room.

This bathroom really is tiny. It's just about the size of a handicap stall, only with a toilet and a sink. As soon as he's through the door, Sherlock attacks him in a kiss.

John quickly reciprocates, pushing Sherlock against the opposite wall and pushing against him. John spreads his legs to be on either side of Sherlock's and Sherlock slides down the wall so their rapidly filling cocks are lined up.

John instantly begins humping his love's clothed cock through his own clothes, but the friction was dead on and both men groaned.

"I missed you so fucking much," John says, gripping Sherlock's black curls and thrusting harder.

Sherlock grabs his hips and holds on tight, standing still as he lets John thrust against him. The thought of standing and letting someone touch him like this is filthy to Sherlock. He loves it.

"Ughhhh!" John yells in frustration.

"What? What?" Sherlock panics.

"Not…" he grunts. "Enough…"

Sherlock bites John's bottom lip and pushes him back, then sticks his tongue deep into John's mouth and twisting it. John's eyes roll to the back of his head as Sherlock pushes him against the sink and begins to undo his trousers.

"Sherlock," John groans as his cock is freed.

With one hand, Sherlock reaches between them and undoes his own trousers, with the other hand he shoves his fingers into John's hair and pulls John's head towards his, letting John invade his mouth. They both moan and John thrusts his hips at Sherlock's hand between them.

Sherlock shoves his pants below his arse and crouches so he can take him and John both into one firm grip. The stance in uncomfortable for him, so he lifts John onto the sink while licking and sucking on John's neck.

John moans. Sherlock's strength has always been a huge turnon, and the feeling of Sherlock's tongue on his neck makes him buck his hips.

Sherlock pulls off John and spits in his hand a few times, then slicks their cocks up with his spit. He reaches between them once again and takes them both in hand, this time standing perfectly straight and being able to stroke and thrust against John.

"Just fuck me, Sherlock," John pleads.

"Not here," Sherlock groans. "Home. At home."

John lowers his hand and runs them lightly over Sherlock's bare hips. He finally reaches Sherlock's plump behind and squeezes. He kneads Sherlock's arse as Sherlock thrusts harder.

"Oh, John…" Sherlock sighs, throwing his head back.

"Come for me, love," John begs. "Please, come for me."

Sherlock presses his forehead firmly against his husband's, stares into John's deep blue eyes, and comes with a low grunt. John feels the wetness between them and nearly comes, but in the peak of his orgasm, Sherlock grabbed hold of himself and left John's cock alone.

When he finally gets his head back, Sherlock takes deep breaths in John's face. John grabs Sherlock's head and lightly pulls his hair. He gives Sherlock a dozen small kisses all over his face. "I love you, oh, I love you," John mutters.

"John…" Sherlock lustfully purrs, then dips his head and engulfs John's cock in his warm, wet mouth.

"Oh my god!" John nearly shouts, the heat feeling excruciatingly good on his long lonely cock.

Sherlock greedily sucks at John while hardly taking breaths or swallowing. Having no gag reflex, Sherlock arches his neck as best he can and deep throats John's cock, swallowing the head and licking at the shaft.

John digs his fingers deep into Sherlock's hair and pulls roughly. Two minutes later he's panting, "God, Sherlock, _yes_! There, right there, oh god…_Sherlock_ I'm…Sherlock I'm com—" With that he comes deep into Sherlock's mouth with a loud groan.

Sherlock swallows and stands, his face level with John's.

"That was…" John tries.

"I missed you."

John strokes Sherlock's cheek. "I missed you, too, love."

"Promise me I can't leave ever again."

John snorts. "That's kind of your decision."

Sherlock smiles. "Promise me you won't let me."

John smiles at his husband. "Deal."

* * *

They emerge from the bathroom long after they went in. John tells Sherlock he'll wait downstairs while Sherlock finishes up with Lestrade.

He walks through the door and without saying hello, Lestrade says, "Please don't shag here ever again."

Sherlock smirks. "I've just come to say goodbye."

Lestrade rolls his eyes. "Go on, then. I'm sure you and John have a lovely evening planned."

Sherlock smiles. "Your shirt and cologne and fresh haircut tells me you do, as well." Sherlock goes to the door and turns the knob, looking back to see Lestrade blushing. "Tell my brother I say hello."

Lestrade blushes more, making Sherlock laugh.

* * *

Sherlock finds John on the street and goes up to him.

"Ready?" John asks.

"For what?"

"Hmm," John takes Sherlock's hand and walks down the street. "Early dinner? Early to bed?"

Sherlock smiles down at him. "I'd rather skip dinner," he says.

John snorts. "Not bloody likely, young man. Now, tell me about the case."

With that, they walk hand in hand down the street as Sherlock eccentrically retells the tale of his last week, including the phone sex.

_***Sequel to previous chapter, 'Miss'. Thanks! Review! **_

_***Oh and there's a blog called imagineyourotp dot tumblr dot com and if you go to that and find anything you wish your otp did, tell me and I'll write from that prompt. Ok? Ok! **_


	9. Chapter 9: Play

**Play**

"Do you come here often, Doctor Watson?"

John grins. "Please, call me John."

The man across the table grins back. "Do you come here often, John?"

John shakes his head. "No. I've only been here a few times since I moved to this block."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Couple years, just after I got discharged from the military."

"Why did you get discharged?"

John shyly looks down at the table. "I got shot."

The man nods. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It was a long time ago. Now I'm here and it's ok."

"What made you move _here_?" the man asks.

"I found a flat mate. Well, a mutual friend introduced us. I've lived with him since."

"Is the flat mate… your husband?"

John nods. "How did you know I'm married?"

"Your ring. Well, the absence of your ring."

John glances down at his ring finger. "He's like that, too. My husband. He just…notices things. He's very good at it. I don't know how he does it and I probably never will, but he's very keen and wise."

"And that bothers you?" the man asks.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you wouldn't be here, with me, so close to your home if there wasn't something about him that bothers you."

John shrugs. "I just need a break, that's all. And he needs a break."

"Where is he now?"

John shrugs. "I don't know. He could be anywhere. Could be in this pub for all I know."

"Does he usually follow you on dates?"

"This is the first time I've…gone on a date…since we've been married. But before we were married, yeah, he followed me on dates."

The man nods. "Possessive man?"

"Very."

"And that's what bothers you?"

"A bit, yeah. But he means well. He just wants me for himself."

"Don't you feel the same? Want him for yourself?"

"Of course. I don't want anyone to touch him or look at him or anything."

The man grins. "You sound like the possessive one."

John smiles. "I can be, I'll admit it."

"So your husband," the man starts, "Do you still love him?"

John nods. "I'll always love him."

"And yet…you're here."

John nods, then sips his drink."

"What do you love about him?" the man asks.

"Everything. Everything about him. He could be perfect."

"Could be?"

"In my eyes," John says, "He is. To the world he's a monster, evil, an alien. Everybody hates him and he thrives on that. He…he lives to be hated. Because that means he does his job well."

The man nods. "What does he look like?"

"He's gorgeous. He's tall and pale and…just beautiful. He's got sharp cheek bones, crystal blue eyes, raven curls, long, creamy limbs. His body is to die for. He's just so fucking…hot."

"Hot?"

"Yeah. He's hot. That's what I thought the first time I saw him. He was so hot."

"Hmm," the man takes in the information. "So you always wanted to fuck him?"

John nods. "Since the first time I met him until I fell in love with him. I just wanted him so badly."

"And after you fell in love with him?"

"I wanted to make love to him."

The man nods. "And what is it you want to do to me?"

John leans forward and gazes into the man's dark eyes. "Anything you tell me to."

The man nods. "Let's get out of here, then."

He slips out of his chair and offers a hand out to John. John takes it and lets the man pull him out of the pub.

"My place, or yours?"

John thinks that over. He knows Sherlock isn't home. And it is closer. "Let's go to my flat."

The man nods and follows John to 221B.

John unlocks the door and lets the man go in first, then leads him up to his home. Once in the living room, the man glances around the room.

"Nice," he observes.

"Yes, I thought so."

"Is that a…human skull?"

"It's a friend," John says. "Well, I say 'friend'."

The man looks disturbed, but he shakes it off. "What would you like to do, then John?"

John steps close to him. "You tell me."

The man hesitantly touches John's cheek. To John's surprise, John doesn't pull away. The man takes it as an 'ok' and places his other hand on John's hip. "I want you to fuck me," he breathes out.

John nods. "Anything," he says, taking hold of the man's hips and leading him towards the bedroom.

On the way there, John thinks twice about fucking someone in his and Sherlock's bed. Sherlock would know, he'd see and figure it out. Instead, John presses the man against the kitchen table. He glances over the man's shoulder at the mess.

"My husbands a…scientist," John says.

The man nods.

John steps around the table and pushes everything off in one swift motion. The man gasps at the clanging and crashing glass. John resumes his spot against the man and begins to kiss him.

It's awkward at first, as if neither know what to do. Their tongues slowly glide together and after a few head position changes, they get a rhythm and snog furiously. John breathes heavily and grinds against the man.

Then John sets to work removing the man's jeans. It's awkward, again, but soon the man's nude from the waist down.

"Uh…shirt?" John asks.

"Oh, right," the man says, pulling his t-shirt over his head.

John works on his trousers next. He's wearing the same thing he usually wears, so the man begins to unbutton John's shirt. Once he's fully nude, he pushes the man onto the table and retrieves the lube from a kitchen cabinet.

"You keep lube in the kitchen?" the man asks.

"You'd be surprised at how much we need it, and not just for sex."

The man nods and feels John press a slick finger against his hole. He slowly exhales and John pushes in, delicately opening the man up.

"Are you ok?" John asks over and over.

"Are you always this concerned?" the man asks after the fifth time.

"I'm a doctor, I get worried."

"You're a doctor, you should know when too much is too much."

"You're good, then?"

"Yes," the man says, grunting as John adds the third finger. "Just do it, go ahead."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, John, fuck!" he shouts in frustration.

"Ok, sorry," John replies, slicking his cock and taking his stance between the man's legs.

"Uhm," the man says, "Have you got…"

"Oh, right," John says. "Of course, I'm so sorry."

"It's no problem," the man says, watching John disappear down the hall to the bathroom.

When John returns, he tears the condom packet open and slips it on, then re-lubes his cock and slowly pushes in to the man on the table.

"How's that?" John asks once he's all the way in.

"Good, it's good." the man breathlessly says. "Whenever you're ready."

John gives the man time to adjust, then slowly begins to thrust into him. It feels good, but John doesn't feel all that satisfied. He suddenly wishes for it to be over quickly.

The man below him hardly makes any noise, unlike Sherlock. Sherlock is usually loud and lyrical, but this man is quiet. John's not sure he likes it.

John amps it up soon and begins to thrust with wild abandon. Finally the man lets out a long, low moan and begins coming on his stomach. The sensations on John's cock makes John come, though it's dissatisfying.

John doubles over onto the man's chest and catches his breath. "Are you ok?" he asks.

"I'm fine," the man says.

John lifts his head and rests his chin on the man's chest. "I didn't like that," he bluntly states.

"Why do people suggest role-playing as something that 'spices things up in the bedroom'?" Sherlock asks.

"You're the one that said it would be a good idea."

"You're the one that agreed."

"I didn't know you'd be so…eerily good at it," John says.

"Eerily?" Sherlock asks.

"It was creepy how different you were. I didn't like it. You asked why I got discharged from the army!"

"You said I bother you!"

"Everybody knows that you bother me!"

Sherlock begins to laugh. "Ok, next time, you get to be someone else."

"I don't want there to be a next time. That was just creepy."

"Did you forget about me?" Sherlock asks.

"No. I almost stopped and demanded you _be you. _And what did you do with my wedding ring?"

"It's in my pocket. I thought we weren't going to be married."

John kisses Sherlock's chest, then stands straight up and pulls Sherlock with him. "Well, there will be no next time, got it? Though I do feel as though we did it wrong. Usually people just dress up or get wigs. Men always talk of having fantasies about red heads."

Sherlock's face perks with interest. "Hey, there's an-"

"NO!" John snaps. "No more role-playing!"

_***I just thought it would be funny if they were horrible at role-playing. **_


	10. Chapter 10: Hurt

**Hurt**

Sometimes cases really suck. They just _suck. _They're time consuming and difficult and you wouldn't believe the leg work involved. Sometimes they just suck.

This case sucks. John was quite upset when Sherlock took it, only because he did foresee how much they'd need to be on the move. The criminal is a runner, John doesn't know how Sherlock didn't see it, too.

But they're so close. They're about to catch him. John and Sherlock, along with two other men, are waiting literally around the corner from the man's front door, waiting for him to emerge so they can get him. He went in with a woman, and they anticipate him coming out red handed.

What they don't anticipate is him running the opposite direction. And everyone's caught so off guard that he gets away. Sherlock, the fastest man on the team (and he's not even _on _the team) runs after him. John follows behind.

John can see Sherlock, and he can barely see the man ahead. The man jumps up to catch a fire exit, climbing the ladder all the way to the roof. Sherlock quickly follows him up the ladder, and John follows them.

John makes it onto the roof on time to see the man jump and Sherlock lunge to catch him. Why Sherlock caught him, John wonders. John probably would have just shot him a long time ago, but Sherlock would rather be right than the criminal be dead. So Sherlock catches him and holds on tight.

As John approaches, he sees Sherlock trying to pull him up, but he sees the man pull something out of his pocket.

"Sherlock!" John shouts right as the man stabs Sherlock's forearm.

Sherlock hollers in pain. The man pulls the knife out and stabs him again. He does it three times, and finally Sherlock lets go, pulling his arm back and staring at the knife sticking out.

"Oh my god…" John mutters, delicately taking hold of Sherlock's arm. "Don't move it, ok? Just…" John looks the direction they came, "Help!" he calls to the men that were behind him.

The first man approaches them and quickly asks, "Where'd he go?"

John and Sherlock both look down to the ground.

The team member calls over his radio, "We've got a body in the alley over here, and Mr. Holmes has been stabbed."

John breathes deep, trying to soothe himself, and Sherlock calmly stares at the knife.

"It's ok, love, we'll go to the hospital."

"It's not bad, John, I promise."

"Stop looking at it, love, you're going to freak yourself out."

"No," Sherlock snaps, "If I look away it'll hurt. Trust me. I think I can…" Sherlock takes hold of the knife.

"No!" John shouts. "Do not pull it out! You could begin to bleed a lot and I don't want you to…to…"

"Nonsense, John, I'm not going to die. He hit no arteries or veins, he didn't even hit my bone. I'm perfectly—" with that, Sherlock tugs the knife out of his arm and quickly covers his wounds with his thick scarf.

John faints. John, the doctor who has delivered babies, popped bones back into place, stitched many, many areas of the body, oh and has _been shot, _faints.

* * *

John wakes up in a white room. He stares at the ceiling, unblinking, until he hears Sherlock's voice.

"Ahh, there you are, John," Sherlock says.

John's head lolls to the left, where he finally sees Sherlock.

Sherlock's sitting on the other bed in the room getting his arm sown shut.

"I told you he'd come around soon," Sherlock says.

The nurse nods. "Well, I'm almost finished, Mr. Holmes. Then you can get back to your husband."

Sherlock grins and sticks a lollipop back into his mouth. Then he thinks again and pulls it out. "Oh, here," he says, leaning over to grab another lollipop off the bedside table and handing it to John.

"Hey hey!" his nurse shouts. "Don't move, Mr. Holmes!"

Sherlock smiles at her. "Sorry."

John's legs slowly begin to feel solid again and he sits up in the bed. "Oh, what happened?" he asks, rubbing his head.

"We were chasing a murderer, then he jumped off a building, then he stabbed me three times, then I pulled the knife out—"

His nurse interjects, "Which you shouldn't have done—"

"And then you fainted, then I stared at you for a while, then we got to ride in an ambulance together, then we got here, then they _ripped my shirt off_ John, then she started stabbing me again, then they gave me this lollipop." Sherlock happily smiles at the lollipop and stuffs it back into his mouth. Then he pulls it out again. "Look at my tongue John, look at my tongue, _look_!"

John looks up at Sherlock, then at his nurse. "What did you give him?"

She chuckles. "Paracetamol."

John shakes his head. He hops off his bed and steps over to Sherlock's. he wipes curls out of Sherlock's eyes and kisses his forehead. "You ok, love?"

Sherlock vigorously nods. "This is fun, there was an ambulance, John and a lot of blood it really was a lot and then they gave me this red lollipop did you look at my tongue, John?"

John shakes his head. "You're crazy, you know that?"

Sherlock looks up at John with glossy eyes and smiles. "Did you get your lollipop, John? I told them you like blue so they gave you blue but mine might have chocolate in the middle I'm not sure but I don't want to bite it because that'll hurt my teeth." Sherlock randomly giggles. "That tickles," he says, looking down at the nurse sewing his arm.

She smiles at him. "Almost done, honey."

Sherlock nods. "This is fun, John."

John rubs his head. "Let's not make a habit of it, ok?"

A minute later, Sherlock's all stitched up. "All done, sweetums. Just come back in a week to get them removed. Make sure to keep it clean. Try not to open them up."

John glares at Sherlock. "Please, please try not to open them up, love."

Sherlock nods at both of them, still happily sucking his lollipop.

The nurse says goodbye and gives Sherlock a spare lollipop she had.

"Are you going to eat yours John?"

"Hmm?"

"Your lollipop. Are you going to eat it?"

John picks up his lollipop and gives it to Sherlock. "Have it, love."

"I think I'll start a collection," Sherlock squeals.

John laughs. "How do you feel?"

Sherlock noisily pulls the lollipop out of his mouth. "Perfect. How do you feel? Does your head hurt? You hit it pretty hard. You didn't bleed. I would have panicked had you bled. Remember last week when you got a bloody nose I almost cried John and I don't cry often. I didn't like it because I don't like to see you hurt so I ask again," Sherlock pauses for a breath, "How do you feel?"

John laughs. "I'm fine, love. Are you ready to go?"

Sherlock nods. "Just check my tongue one more time," with that he sticks his tongue out.

John leans forward and captures Sherlock's tongue between his teeth. Sherlock hums in surprise and lets John kiss him.

* * *

The next day, when Sherlock is sober, everything is wrong. The bandage around his arm itches. He thinks the stitches are infected (they're not). He's whiny because he knows John will give him whatever he wants. Aaaaand then he begins to pick at the stitches.

"Stop!" John shouts, walking into the living room to see Sherlock attempting to pull a stitch out.

Sherlock instantly stops and stares at John.

"Do not touch those stitches, young man. If I even see you looking at them the wrong way I will beat you into next month. Is that clear?"

Sherlock nods.

"Good," John strokes Sherlock's cheek, bends down and kisses him. "Dinner's almost ready."

Well, right after dinner, Sherlock does pull a stitch out. His wound begins to bleed and John takes him to the hospital.

There, the same nurse gives Sherlock another paracetamol.

Sherlock is very happy to be there.

"Can I have another lollipop?" Sherlock quietly asks, knowing he's in trouble.

"No!" John and the nurse shout.

Sherlock looks up at John with puppy-dog eyes.

"No."

"Please?"

John rolls his eyes and takes a lollipop out of his pocket.

Sherlock happily unwraps it and sticks it in his mouth.

"You're not supposed to reward them for being bad," the nurse says.

"Oh, you've got a four year old?" John jokes.

She laughs. "I was only joking. We're almost done."

"Why didn't we get an ambulance?" Sherlock asks. "Did you get a lollipop? Did you faint again? No you didn't you got us here because I was bleeding but you were scared. I'm sorry John I love you."

John rubs his head. "I love you, too, you gigantic four year old."

Sherlock smiles.

As the nurse it about to leave, John stops her. "Look," he says, "You don't think I could get a prescription for whatever you gave him?"

She smiles. "Just this once, and only because you're also a doctor."

John nods and takes the prescription from her.

To say the least, Sherlock is high until his stitches come out. He's very happy about all of it, but after two days John gets very, very annoyed. Sherlock's just always there near him. _All the time._

Over the next week, frequently heard is:

"Sherlock, get out of here, I am _peeing_."

"Sherlock, I will burn you with this spoon, don't think I won't."

"Sherlock, please stop tickling me, I'm trying to make tea."

"Sherlock, I'm trying to read the paper, please get off my lap."

And finally, "Sherlock, get your hand out of my pants, I need to…I need…_ughhhh_…nevermind…"

_***So **_**StarMaya **_**requested Sherlock in pain and I'm not really sure this is what you want…I can try again and do better I promise…but we got hurt!Sherlock and high!Sherlock so…I think he's a child…a very cute child, but…**_

_***Please keep prompting and reviewing. I really love writing these. **_


	11. Chapter 11: Banana

**Banana**

"Stop it."  
Sherlock looks up. "What?"  
"Stop that."  
Greg briefly glances up at both of them then thinks twice and looks back at his paperwork.  
"Stop eating it like that!"  
Sherlock stares at John. "You know I haven't eaten in four days. You're the one who insisted I eat."  
John flares his nostrils, looks at Greg. "You don't need me do you?"  
Greg shakes his head.  
John nods, stands, leaves the room.  
Sherlock watches him leave.  
"What's his problem?" Sherlock demands.  
"Have you ever reeeeally looked at a banana?"  
Sherlock looks at his banana. Long, slightly curved, generally quite thick-  
Sherlock blinks at his banana then turns red.  
Greg chuckles.


	12. Chapter 12: Ring

**Ring**

Engagements are just weird. It's weird that one day someone is your boyfriend, the next they're your fiancé, and just after that they're your husband.

That's how Sherlock feels at least.

When he and John got together, he wanted to go right down to the courthouse that very day so he and John could just skip all of the gray area and just _be _married. He felt as though if they ever broke up, it would be like getting divorced because he felt no less emotion or attachment to John than any wife to her husband or any husband to his wife.

But John disagreed. He told Sherlock they had to work to that level and, over time, they'd possibly get married. Though Sherlock didn't like the 'possibly', he left it alone and they did work for it.

That was two years ago and Sherlock just thinks it's about damn time they get married. It's been _two years. _They've been together longer than some marriages even last, and Sherlock is very anxious to get his marriage going.

But of course he's too scared to ask John. _What if John's not ready? What if John says no? What if John doesn't want to marry me? _Sherlock asks himself all of these questions while laying awake one night. He looks over at John, _sweet sleeping John. So warm. So peaceful. So beautiful. So…_Sherlock leans over and presses his lips to John's slightly parted, barely chapped lips_…warm_.

At Sherlock's touch, John's body reacts by squeezes his eyes tighter shut, briefly licking his lips, and turning over onto his back.

Sherlock can't stop himself. Without feeling any bit sexual at the moment, he slides onto John's body and rests there. He dips his head and kisses John's neck, slowly turning sweet kisses into light nicks and nibbles.

Soon, Sherlock feels one of John's hand dig into his hair and the other resting on his pants-covered arse.

"Mmmm…" John sighs himself awake. "What're you doin'?" he blissfully asks.

"John…" Sherlock sighs, kissing up John's jaw to his lips. He kisses John once, then pulls back and looks into his love's groggy eyes. _I need to ask…_Sherlock thinks. _I need to know. _"Will you marry me?"

John's facial expression doesn't change. "What?"

Sherlock bashfully buries his face in John's neck.

"Hey, hey," John soothes. He lightly tugs Sherlock's hair so Sherlock faces him again. "You want to marry me?"

Sherlock bites his lip and nods.

John slowly smiles. "I wanted to ask first."

Sherlock looks stunned. "Is that a…yes?"

John smiles wide and vigorously nods.

Sherlock goes into temporary shock, absentmindedly smiling and letting John pull him into an awkward hug.

"Oh," John starts, "I'm so happy Sherlock. I love you so much. All I want is to be married to you."

Sherlock nods in agreement, still shocked. He pulls away from John and looks into John's eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Of course!" John exclaims. He grabs Sherlock's face and pulls Sherlock down for a kiss.

When they break apart, Sherlock has a giddy grin on his face. "Should I get you a ring now?" he playfully asks.

John smiles and picks up Sherlock's left hand. He kisses Sherlock's ring finger. "Tomorrow. I promise."

Sherlock smiles and kisses John again. _Tomorrow, _Sherlock thinks, _my fiancé is going to buy me an engagement ring. _

**_*Here's a little thing about 'ring' prompted by _ _thank you_! _I hope it's ok. Also I know paracetamol is like Tylenol but ya know in America we have like super heavy duty Tylenol (haha!). Thank you for your reviews, though, guys. I appreciate them all! _**


	13. Chapter 13: Allons-y

**Allonsy!**

Sherlock does not solve every case. Sure, he gets a large majority of them, but every once in a while there's one that goes unsolved.

Eight days ago, Sherlock didn't solve an important case. People died, someone got away, and Sherlock's brain sort of shut down. In the cab going home he was silent, he went to bed silently, he woke up silently, and as soon as he got out of bed, he went to the sofa and sulked.

At this point, John knows how to deal. Until there's another case, Sherlock likes to watch Doctor Who. Doctor Who helps his brain, sort of, restart. It helps him recharge. It keeps him from beating himself up over it.

For eight days, Sherlock's done nothing but watch Doctor Who. John is going crazy waiting for a new case, but he can't imagine how Sherlock feels. All he does is sit there all day.

Finally Lestrade calls John. There's a body with a missing head leaking blue ink and it smells like roses. Of course this is right up Sherlock's alley.

John gets Sherlock to get ready and turns off Doctor Who. They leave off on season 4, and Sherlock gleefully goes to the case.

Sherlock dashes around the crime scene like nothing is wrong. He's well energized and his deductions are spot on. John watches in amazement and offers words of encouragement.

Sherlock spots trickles of the blue ink far away from the body. He nearly hops with excitement and calls after John, "Allons-y!"

Lestrade looks at John. "Did he just say—"

John buries his face in his hand. "Yes."

Lestrade is silent for a minute, then asks, "Did you break him?"

John sighs. "Doctor Who is his remedy. He watches it and refuels."

"John!" Sherlock calls.

"What?"

"I require your assistance! I called for you! Didn't you hear me?"

"Oh, I heard you," John says.

Lestrade begins to laugh. "You're his little companion."

"I am not!" John pouts.

"You are! You follow him around and do as he asks! You're his little companion!"

"I'm going to kick your little companion if you don't stop calling me 'little'," John warns.

Lestrade laughs harder.

"John!" Sherlock shouts.

Lestrade continues laughing as he walks towards Sherlock. He glances back at John and John isn't moving. "Didn't you hear him?" Lestrade calls to John. "Allons-y!"

_***This prompt was given by **_**hpgleek713 **_**and it was for **_**Allons-y! **_**which is a major thing in the DW fandom, of course, and I have a headcanon that Sherlock loves Doctor Who. Because really…who doesn't?!**_


	14. Chapter 14: Cat

**Cat**

"Look at him, Sherlock."

Sherlock doesn't look. "No."

"Look at how cute he is, look!"

"No."

John picks up the little tiny puppy and holds him close, then gets way into Sherlock's person space. The puppy dog eyes John makes resemble the small, starving puppy.

"He needs a good home," the dog's seller says.

"No," Sherlock says, finally looking at John. "He smells, John."

"I'll bathe him."

"And you'll take him out? And feed him?"

John makes the puppy dog eyes again.

"No."

"I don't even need to ask your permission. I can buy him if I want," John looks back at the puppy's seller. "How much for him?"

The girl shrugs. "Twenty quid."

John takes out a bill and hands it to the girl, then happily walks down the street with his new little puppy.

Sherlock scowls and follows.

_Two can play this game, _Sherlock thinks two hours later after he storms out of the flat because the puppy chewed on his dressing gown.

Sherlock wanders for a while until he stops at a pet store. He sees a cat in the window and thinks, _Yes! That's the one I want._

He buys the cat, some food, and heads home.

"Oh, John!" Sherlock calls through the flat. _That Ratty Little Thing _runs to the door when he hears Sherlock's voice. He jumps against Sherlock's shins and nips at his jeans. Sherlock want to kick him, but John rounds the corner.

"What in God's name is that?" John demands.

"You wanted a dog, I wanted a cat."

John frowns. "No way. Cats are fine and good, but there is no way—"

"Then take him back, too."

John glances at the little puppy trying to climb Sherlock and picks him up. "Come on love, he's so cute. He's small, he won't grow to be big. He just wants to play, that's all."

"I don't like him, John."

John and Sherlock are standing so close together that the cat and dog are stretching and sniffing each other, and to John's surprise they're not fighting.

John pets the dog. "I don't want to give him back, Sherlock. I like him, I want him to stay."

"Well, I want my cat to stay, too."

John rolls his eyes. "Fine. Keep your damn cat."

Sherlock smiles, pulls his coat off while still holding the cat, and goes to his chair, letting the cat rest on his lap. John follows and sits in _his _chair with the dog on his lap.

For nearly an hour, John and Sherlock stare at each other while petting their animal. Well, Sherlock sit and pets his calm cat, but John's puppy hops around on John.

"Is he annoying you, yet?" Sherlock wants to know.

"Nope. I like him."

Sherlock squints his eyes at John. He finally breaks eye contact to check his watch and finds that it's just about time for bed. "I'm off to bed," Sherlock says. He takes his cat and goes to the bedroom.

John follows minutes later with his puppy, and once in the bedroom he drops the puppy on the bed. The cat is there already, so the dog and cat sniff each other before settling in on their respective sides of the bed.

The animals stay on the bed all through the night, and sometime in the night, the animals end up on top of their owner. The puppy rests on John's belly, riding the swell of John's breathing, and the cat rests on Sherlock's bare back. Neither man move much in the night, so the animals don't get squished.

When they wake up in the morning, Sherlock is unhappily covered in tiny red hives all over his body. His nose is plugged up and his eyes are watery and itchy.

"Are you allergic to your little friend?"

Sherlock glares at John. "Yeah, allergic to you."

"Look at you, love. You're covered in hives. I know you want to play this little game, but I think your friend has got to go."

Sherlock pets the cat, and the puppy climbs off John and goes to Sherlock's aid, attempting to mend his hives by slow strokes of his tongue. Sherlock pets the puppy, too.

"I guess he can stay, John," Sherlock says.

"What should I do with the cat?"

Sherlock looks at John and grins.

An hour later, Mrs. Hudson opens her front door to a little basket with a little cat inside. She squeals in delight and takes the cat inside.

"I'm sorry you couldn't keep the cat, love," John says.

"I know, but I think she and Mrs. Hudson can be great friends," Sherlock replies, taking the puppy from John and curling up on the sofa with him.

John smiles at Sherlock. "I knew you'd warm up to him."

"Mmm," is all Sherlock says.

_***CAT was prompted by **__**so I hope you like it. I don't like cats so I made Sherlock allergic. Sorry! **_


	15. Chapter 15: Instagram

**Instagram**

* * *

Sherlock loves his iPhone. It has everything on it: important photos for cases, music, he even uses it for games.

Sometimes, when he gets bored, he likes to check the top app charts to find interesting new apps or games.

Which is how he found Instagram.

He started out slow. He followed the users the app itself suggested, he learned about commenting and liking, he found out what hashtags are, he even found some users to follow on his own.

And then he started posting.

The first photo was a blurry photo of a dead body. The only reason John let him leave it up was because it was blurry, and you couldn't really make out much of it unless you were a) trained to see such thing or b) present when Sherlock moved to snap the photo and John smacked his phone clean out of his hand.

The second picture was one of John napping on the sofa. (John repaid him later by downloading the app just so he could post a similar photo of Sherlock).

After the tenth photo was posted via Sherlock Holmes four weeks after he downloaded the app, fans from his (John's) site began to follow him. Somehow they found him, and Sherlock gained 100 followers in one day.

Sherlock liked the attention, of course. Since the followers weren't annoying paparazzi or physically in his way, he liked when his photos got "likes".

Once, he even posted a photo of John making breakfast (Sherlock was sitting at the table and John's back was to him), that got over 500 Likes. Additionally, it had almost an equal number of comments along the lines of "Aww!" or "How cute/sweet!" Even though Sherlock hadn't meant for the photo to be cute or sweet.

Another time, Sherlock posted a photo of John shaving. It got similar comments.

"You notice he posts a million pictures of you?" Lestrade asked John one evening while Sherlock was examining a body.

"Hmm? You follow him?"

"Me?" Lestrade snorts. "No. My daughter does. She finds the photos of you sweet."

John laughs. "I hadn't really noticed. Guess I'll pay more attention when he has his phone out."

For a while John didn't mind Sherlock posting photos of him. He liked the attention Sherlock gave him; after all, _his_ website is about _Sherlock_. Sherlock's Instagram could be about him.

But then it began to get annoying, mostly after Sherlock posted a photo of John actually smiling and looking sexy-John-like and all the comments were, "Sherlock you're so lucky, John is so hot!" (The **_WORST_** comment was, "John is such an attractive older man!")

The final straw for John, though, was when Sherlock posted a photo of him in just his pants. Honestly, Sherlock didn't even notice. The focus point of the photo was the blood swatch Sherlock was holding up, but John was in the background, standing in the kitchen wearing only pants.

Forget just deleting Instagram. Sherlock's phone didn't make it through the night after all of the notifications came pouring in. John grabbed Sherlock's phone and smashed it with a hammer, and after he replaced it, Sherlock had to promise never to post photos from inside the flat ever again. And that was after he was banned for Instagram for six months (two months longer than he even had it).

* * *

**_*I have a headcanon that Sherlock is obsessed with things on his phone like Angry Birds and now Instagram. I mean, come on. For a man that gets that bored they could be entertaining_**.


End file.
